Бекки Алберталли - Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda

And I totally figured you’d be ogling the cheerleaders on Friday, because you’re all about the ladies. Me too, Blue. Me too.

—Jacques

FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com

TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

DATE: Nov 2 at 1:43 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Reese’s are better than sex

Reese’s are better than sex? Admittedly, I wouldn’t know, but I have to hope you’re wrong about that one. Maybe you should stop having heterosexual sex, Jacques. I’m just saying.

The kids in your neighborhood sound really charming. Urine isn’t a huge issue here, so maybe next year, I’ll take your advice. It will probably be moot, anyway, because my mom almost never goes out. She just can’t keep up with your party ninja ways, Jacques. ☺

I completely understand what you mean about feeling locked into yourself. For me, I don’t even think it has anything to do with other people thinking they know me. It’s more that I want to leap in and say certain things and do certain things, but I always seem to hold myself back. I think a big part of me is afraid. Even thinking about it makes me nauseated. Did I mention I get nauseated easily?

Of course, that’s the exact reason I don’t want to say anything about Spirit Week and costumes. I don’t want you to put two and two together and figure out who I am. Whatever it is we’re doing here, I don’t think it works if we know each other’s real identities. I have to admit that it makes me nervous to think of you as someone actually connected with my life, rather than a mostly anonymous person on the internet. Obviously, some of the things I’ve told you about myself are things I’ve never talked about with anyone. I don’t know, Jacques—there’s something about you that makes me want to open up, and that’s slightly terrifying for me.

I hope this isn’t too awkward. I know you were kidding when you asked what costume I was going to wear, but I wanted to put this out there—just in case it wasn’t entirely a joke? I have to admit I’m curious about you sometimes, too.

—Blue

P.S. I’m attaching a Reese’s cup to this email. I hope this is what you had in mind.

FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com

TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com

DATE: Nov 3 at 6:37 PM

SUBJECT: Re: Reese’s are better than sex

Blue,

I think I made you uncomfortable, and I’m really, really sorry. I’m kind of a nosy person. It’s always been a problem. I’m so sorry, Blue. I know I sound like a broken record. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this outright, but our emails are really important to me. I would never forgive myself if I fucked this up. Effed this up. Sorry, I don’t even know if you cuss.

So, I might have given you the wrong idea with this subject line. I have to admit that I don’t TECHNICALLY know whether Reese’s are better than sex. Reese’s are really freaking incredible, don’t get me wrong. And I’m guessing they’re better than hetero sex, a.k.a. “intercourse” (per my mom).

Non-hetero sex, though? I imagine it may be a little better than Reese’s. Is it weird that I can’t talk about this without blushing?

Anyway, speaking of Reese’s, thank you so much for the photo. That was exactly what I had in mind. Instead of actually eating one, I just wanted to IMAGINE how salty and chocolaty and awesome it would be to eat one. It’s great, because I really wanted to torture myself, but I didn’t feel like making the effort to Google Reese’s cups myself.

I would raid our own supply of leftover chocolate, but it didn’t even come close to surviving the weekend.

—Jacques

Partying harder than Blue’s mom since 2014 .

WEDNESDAY IS GENDER BENDER DAY, which basically amounts to southern straight people cross-dressing. It’s definitely not my favorite.

We’re watching Twelfth Night in first period, because every English teacher is a comedian. Mr. Wise has this warped, ratty couch in his classroom that smells a little like beer, and I’m pretty sure people sneak in here to have sex and rub their fluids all over it after school. It’s that kind of couch. But we all fight to the death to sit on it during class, I guess because everything’s just a million times more bearable when you’re not in a desk.

Today, it’s been taken over by soccer boys in Creekwood cheerleading uniforms—specifically, Nick, Garrett, and Bram. That’s generally what the jocks do for Gender Bender. There are only about twenty cheerleaders in all, so I have no idea how they meet the demand. Maybe they all have ten uniforms each. Who the hell knows what this school spends its money on.

But I have to admit that there’s something kind of awesome about soccer calves and scuffed tennis shoes coming out of pleated cheerleading skirts. I can’t believe Bram Greenfeld dressed up. Bram from my lunch table. He’s this quiet black kid who’s supposed to be really smart, but I’ve never heard him speak unless he’s forced to. He leans way back into the corner of the couch, shuffling the toe of one foot against the other, and I never noticed it before, but he’s actually kind of adorable.

Mr. Wise has already started the movie when Abby charges into the room. Between cheerleading, the play, and all of her committees, there’s always a reason for Abby to be late to first period, but she never gets called out. It really pisses Leah off, especially because the people on the couch always seem to be willing to scoot over to make room for Abby.

She takes one look at the lineup on the couch and bursts out laughing. And Nick looks so ridiculously pleased with himself. The expression on his face is exactly the same as the day he found a dinosaur bone buried beneath the elementary school playground.

I mean, it turned out to be a chicken bone, but still.

“What the heck?” Abby says, sliding into the desk behind me. She’s wearing a full suit and tie and this long, Dumbledorian fake beard. “You guys didn’t dress up!”

“I’m wearing hair clips,” I point out.

“Okay, well, they’re invisible.” She turns to Leah. “And you’re in a dress?”

Leah looks at her and shrugs without explaining. Dressing extra feminine for Gender Bender is just something Leah does. It’s her way of being subversive.

So, here’s the thing. I would have left the godforsaken industrial-strength hair clips in Alice’s drawer where I found them if I thought I could get away with it. But everyone knows I participate in this kind of crap. Ironically, of course. But still. It would be weirdly conspicuous if I didn’t cross-dress at least a little bit today. It’s funny how it ends up being the straightest, preppiest, most athletic guys who go all out for Gender Bender. I guess they feel secure enough in their masculinity that they don’t care.

I actually hate when people say that. I mean, I feel secure in my masculinity, too. Being secure in your masculinity isn’t the same as being straight.

I guess the one thing that’s weird for me is dressing like a girl. What no one knows, even Blue, is that dressing up used to mean something to me. I don’t know how to explain it or reconcile it, but I haven’t forgotten the feeling of silk and air against my legs. I always knew I was a boy, and I’ve never wanted to be anything but a boy. But when I was younger, I used to wake up at night in April dreaming of Halloween. I would try my costume on a dozen times each October, and all through November, I obsessively fantasized about pulling it out of my closet one more time. But I never crossed that line.

I don’t know. There’s just something kind of mortifying to me about the intensity of those feelings. I remember them so clearly. I can’t even stomach the idea of cross-dressing now. I don’t even like to think about it too much. A lot of the time, I can’t believe that was me.